A Popsicle and A Hug

There is a little girl that lives in my neighborhood.  I don't know her name.  I don't know how old she is.  She is not very big...much smaller than Aidan.  But, she has a way about her that makes you think she's older.  I'm not even sure where she lives.  I just know that she walks down my street every afternoon after school.  I've been watching her and wondering about her for two years.  She always wears pants that are much too short.  Not just a little too short, but WAY too short.  Her shoes are always worn out and never the right size...usually a couple of sizes too big, so they flop around when she walks.  She always wears a jacket or a sweater, no matter how hot it is outside, like she's trying to cover up a secret hurt.  I don't know her story.  I know nothing about her home life.  But, my heart aches for her just the same.  She never says much.  Once, she told me that she really liked all of my pretty flowers.  Sometimes she smiles, but she always watches me carefully as she walks by my house.  I make sure to always smile at her.  Just in case no one else does.

I stand out in front of my house every afternoon so I can watch Aidan walk home.  I greet him each day with a hug.  Or I'll tousle his hair and ask him how his day was.  I'm glad I get to be here to greet him when he comes home.  It seems like a trivial thing.  But, sometimes the trivial things mean the most.  This little girl made me realize what a gift I've been given to be here with my kids during the day.  One day she was walking just a little in front of Aidan.  I smiled at her, as usual.  Then I hugged Aidan and said, "hey buddy.  How was your day?"  Before Aidan could answer, this quiet little girl said, "there's nothing better in the world than to have someone waiting for you at home to give you a hug and a popsicle."  I looked at her.  She just said it as she walked.  She didn't stop or slow down.  "Do you have anyone at home to give you a hug?" I asked.  "No, there's no one at home," she said, at almost a whisper as she kept walking.

My heart hurt for her.  Maybe her family is neglectful.  Or maybe they are just doing what they have to in order to get by.  I don't know.  I wish that I could invite her into my home.  Give her a hug...and a popsicle.  Ask her how her day was.  Look at the papers in her backpack and make a big deal over the good grades...and help her fix the bad ones.  I want to let her know that I see her, and that I care about her...and that God sees her, and He cares about her too.  I know it's not appropriate to do those things for a girl I don't even know.  But, I'll keep praying for her, and maybe God will open some doors for me to talk to her more.

In the meantime, I will remember what a blessing it is that I get to be here when my own child comes home.  Sometimes my job is so monotonous that I forget what a blessing and honor it is.  May I never take for granted the gift...no, the many gifts...I've been given:  my husband, who values my being at home with our kids, and supports me in that role, my beautiful healthy children, my comfortable home, financial provision that allows me to be here, and my sweet relationship with my Savior, everything good about me as a woman and a mother comes from Him.  I have to agree with that precious little girl.  There is NOTHING better than having someone waiting for you at home.  We all need a safe place to land at the end of the day.  I am so grateful that I can be that for my family.